


Heritage

by somehowunbroken



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Names run in the family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heritage

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an idea that I had about Striders being sentimental and an overwhelming need for tiny Dave and tiny Dirk in my life.

You ask Bro about it when you’re seven years old.

He sighs and takes his shades off, and you immediately do the same. Shades are awesome, but when you talk about serious, grown-up things, they come off. Bro says it’s a sign that you really, really respect the other person, which is why he only ever does it with you.

“Your name, huh?” he asks. “Figured you’d ask. Didn’t figure you’d still be such a pipsqueak.”

“I’m not a pipsqueak,” you protest. You’re an entire inch taller than you were six months ago. You’re growing really fast. “Stacy is named after her mom’s favorite TV person, Dylan is named after his uncle’s best friend, and Clemente says his mom made up his name.”

“Hey, nobody ever said wanting to know shit is a bad thing, little guy,” Bro says. “Just – huh.”

You wait.

“I had a Bro, too,” Bro says finally. Your eyes go wide. This is news to you. “He died a long, long time ago, way before you were born. I was about your age, actually, and something pretty bad happened to him. He was the coolest dude, though.” Bro clears his throat. “His name was Dave.”

“Oh,” you say. You’re named after Bro’s Bro. That’s… kind of awesome, you think. You stick your chest out. “I’m gonna be the coolest dude, too. I’ll be like the other Dave.”

Bro laughs and shoves your shoulder, but you see it coming and dodge out of the way. His hand doesn’t even touch you, and you grin. Already awesome. He nods and slips his shades back on.

“You already are, little dude,” he says, and it might not be the coolest thing ever, but you smile up at him.

-0-

You’re sixteen and considering saying fuck it, you don’t actually need to wait up for Bro to get home, when there’s a knock on the door.

It’s four in the morning. Your stomach clenches, and you check your cell one more time before standing to open the door.

The policeman is maybe thirty, younger even than Bro is _(was)_ , and he sits with you on the couch and asks if there’s someone he can call for you. You shake your head and dial John. He answers on the third ring, and all you say is I need you to come over, and bring your dad, please, please, and then you’re crying.

-0-

You’re twenty-seven and the kid is maybe three hours, four at the most. You don’t know this by looking at him, because if it a kid isn’t old enough to tell you how old it is, you have no fucking idea how you tell.

The thing that you absolutely do know is that you’re not leaving the hospital without him. He’s tiny and fragile and terrifying, and you have no idea what the fuck to do with a baby, but he’s yours and fuck anyone who tries to take him from you.

“Mr. Strider,” the woman from CPS is saying patiently, “you’re a very busy man. You live an incredibly full life. You don’t really want to take care of an infant.”

You clutch him more tightly to your chest and tilt your head down. Your shades slip down your nose, and she gets the full effect of the Narrowed Strider Eyes.

“Ms. Santos,” you reply, “I’m the only kin this kid has. My sister has been dead for six hours. There isn’t a father in the picture.” You jerk your head up to resettle your shades and swallow hard. Gotta get through this, Dave. “I’m taking my nephew with me when the docs give the go-ahead.”

You’d give the woman credit for not backing down, but right now you’re too afraid that she’s going to take the baby, that she’ll grab this last link you have to a relative and make him disappear so well that you won’t be able to find him. She crosses her arms over her chest and assesses you over the rims of her own glasses.

“I’ll grant you temporary custody pending a full check,” she says finally. “I’m not guaranteeing anything, Mr. Strider.”

It’s enough for now, that when the doctors finish checking the little guy out, you’ll be allowed to bring him home with you. You hold him close to your chest and nod at her, and she shuffles a few papers on the desk before leaving the room.

“We’re gonna be fine, little man,” you whisper into the kid’s jet-black hair. “You and me, we’re gonna do okay.”

-0-

He’s five when the question comes up.

“Bro?”

You turn your head so you can focus on him. You had freaked out when he lost all his hair after you brought him home from the hospital, but Jade had assured you that it was normal, that kids did that. It’s grown in light and fine, and there’s nobody who would guess that he wasn’t actually your biological son. “Sup, kiddo?”

“Why’s my name Dirk?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. It’s been sixteen years, but that doesn’t make it easy to think about your Bro.

“Bro?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply. You reach up to take your shades off and he immediately copies you. His are smaller versions of your own aviators; you’d considered an old pair of the pointy ones, but the thought of it had made your stomach hurt. 

You take another breath and let it out. “I had a Bro, too. Something bad happened a long time ago, and he died. His name was Dirk.”

“Oh,” he says quietly.

“He was the coolest dude,” you add. “And I knew that you were gonna be pretty chill yourself, so I figured, hey, why not?”

You remember this point in your own conversation a lifetime ago, how you’d puffed out your chest and declared how cool you were going to be. Your kid isn’t you, though; he climbs into your lap and throws his noodly arms around your neck and tucks his head against your shoulder.

“I’ll be as cool as him,” he promises. “When I get bigger.”

You force yourself to swallow again and run your fingers through his hair. “You already are, little dude,” you tell him. “You already are.”


End file.
